Beginning

Why should I write? Who am I to try and figure anything out? Why should laziness not constrain me, or meaningless not undermine me? Who was I, that I should seek myself again?

I do not know where to begin. I have committed myself to truth, but I no longer see what that is, or how it is possible to do that. How may I begin to know anything, so that I may find true and sure meaning, that my existence may become truly purposeful? Where am I now, and what do I know now? I want more than memories of knowledge, I want to know that I am knowing, not just clinging to what I used to ‘know’. I want more than baseless beliefs, I want truth.

Rationality has failed me, I only have my beliefs and hopes, now without a base, adrift and meaningless. I sought an entire truth, but now everything has unravelled, even rationality itself.

What terrible irony is this, that my rationality has undermined itself, concluding that it and all of reality is absurd, via itself and reality’s existence? That I now only have an irrational hope for rationality and meaning? That I am certain only of uncertainty? That now the closest I can get to truth is a non-truth, a monolithic contradiction according to rationality which exists yet cannot?

Why should I write or think? How can I be? Silence is correct when all is meaningless, but then so is non-existence. No, silence is arbitrary when all is contradictory, and I can not avoid reality.

Where do I begin? How can I accept a solution beyond me? Who am I really, and what is my finiteness? How may a point recognise an infinity?

I am lost and broken, destroyed by myself. This place is not new to me, but I see it in a way which I didn’t before, seeing against sight’s legitimacy. And I see this time the yawning expanse of a contradictory existential existence lying before me again, as I didn’t several years ago when I blindly accepted it. I can see no way out because I can not truly see. I am blind only because I have eyes – a worm is less blind than me.

What is true rationality, for it surely exists, as existence is sure. What am I clinging to, to what false premise do I adhere? What is this sin, this now baseless belief? What is this pride that I stubbornly hold to? There is no such thing as true nihilism or true existentialism, they are held only by contradiction – undermined by this rationalism which bore them, this empty faith.

And so I am naked before reality, rationality no longer clothes me, and I refuse the illusion of ignorance. Reality presses against me, confounding me, and I cannot hide from it. What have I done? What is this falsehood that I have, dictating its own justification, this justification which is finally no more than a blindness? How can I escape this paradigm, how can it end?

Where do I begin?

Find me infinity, may I find myself found. May I know myself known.